Birds of a Feather
by Kips34
Summary: Emily Prentiss has endured unimaginable horrors in her life, many of which have stemmed from her career path as an agent. When given the opportunity to leave everything behind and start anew, will she be able to escape the terrors of her past, or will it come back to haunt her? Will someone from her past see the truth behind the carefully constructed mask she now wears?
1. Chapter 1

**Birds of a Feather**

 **Summary:** Emily Prentiss has endured unimaginable horrors in her life, many of which have stemmed from her career path as an agent. When given the opportunity to leave everything behind and start anew, will she be able to escape the terrors of her past, or will it come back to haunt her? Will someone from her past see the truth behind the carefully constructed mask she now wears? Will he be able to help her finally put the ghosts to rest? [Emily, Steve]

 **Who is Jennifer?**

Supervisory Special Agent (SSA) Emily Prentiss of the Behavioral Analysis Unit (BAU) of the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) was a well-respected federal agent with an impeccable track record, and thanks to her mother's status as Ambassador to the UN, strong political connections around the world, but she also lived with a secret past as a covert agent for the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA). She worked many classified undercover operations both for the CIA, and for their international counter-part, Interpol.

Her last case before leaving that world behind, in favor of working for the FBI, was a long-term undercover job with connections in the US, Ireland, and Italy primarily. Her mark, international arms dealer with known terrorist connections, former IRA Captain, Ian Doyle, more widely known in the criminal world as Valhalla. The operation was a success. Doyle was arrested, and his business shut down. Emily's alias, Lauren Reynolds, 'died', and all lose ends were neatly tied up.

But her past refused to stay buried. Ian Doyle escaped from prison and set out on the war path to destroy all those he deemed responsible for his arrest, and subsequent separation from his only son, Declan. Many of those involved in the original case were killed, along with their families, as Doyle sought his revenge. Emily was too late to save her former friends and colleagues from the CIA and Interpol, but when Doyle discovered she was in fact still alive, and began targeting her and her team at the BAU, she took the fight to him.

After being captured by Doyle and his men following an ambush in Boston, Emily was beaten, tortured, and very nearly killed, but she survives. Unfortunately, Doyle escaped before he could be re-apprehended, and as such, the Director of the CIA made the necessary arrangements to have Agent Prentiss' death faked. Everyone she had ever known, friends, family, coworkers, everyone believed she had been killed by Ian Doyle, and was never coming home.

Once she had recovered from her injuries and come to terms with the fact that she could never go back to her old life, Emily accepted her mission as laid out to her by the CIA's Director. Find Doyle. Kill him and as many of his loyal followers as possible. Eliminate any of his remaining business operations. It was a suicide mission and they both knew it, but her life as Emily Prentiss was over, and she had nothing left to lose.

After three years living as a virtual ghost, she successfully completed her mission, and returned to Langley expecting the Director to relieve her of duty and set her up with a new identity. However, he was so thoroughly pleased with the job she had done, completing a mission that would have killed any other agent, that he insisted on her remaining with the agency. She was not pleased, having never wanted to return to that life in the first place, and desperately wanting out, so after she threatened to go public with everything and return to DC as Emily Prentiss, he finally agreed to give her the needed backstop to start her new life.

On that day, Emily Prentiss ceased to exist, and Jennifer was born.

 **Chapter 1: Welcome to Hawaii**

Jennifer stepped off the plane, and let a smile grace her lips as she felt the warm sun hit her face. She closed her eyes, taking in the warm sensation, breathing deeply the fresh, floral scent she never before would have associated with an airport. She was in Hawaii, the closest place to paradise on Earth she could think of. She had made it.

This was the beginning of her new life, and she couldn't be more pleased with how things had turned out.

Sure, there were times when she missed her old friends, especially her old team. JJ and Morgan in particular. They had been her closest friends before everything came crashing down almost four years earlier, and she still missed them terribly at times. But they were alive, out there somewhere living their lives, free from the dangers of her past. And so, Jen didn't mind so much that she couldn't see them now.

Jen.

That was still odd for her. She had worked more undercover operations than any agent should ever be asked to, and she was no stranger to living under an assumed name. In fact, while hunting Doyle, she had used dozens of different aliases in order to keep him and his men off her scent. But this wasn't an alias. This wasn't a temporary role to fill. She was Jen now. Jennifer Morgan Lawson. She would never again introduce herself as Emily Prentiss. She no longer was Emily Prentiss. And no number of classified missions could prepare her for that reality, not really.

She had reviewed the files the Director had given her thoroughly, memorizing every detail of her new backstop as Jennifer, before deleting her copy of the files and erasing any remaining evidence of her contact with Langley. The Director had been quite thorough, and she now felt confident beginning this next stage in her life.

With that thought, Jen continued to smile brightly, heading towards the main terminal. She was brought out of her inner musings by a young woman approaching her and placing a beautiful flower lei around her neck.

Her first instinct was to dodge the approaching woman. She had been living on the razor's edge of death and danger for so long now that she couldn't help the momentary need to defend herself against this stranger. But once she took in the woman's uniform, and realized she had been one of the airline attendants on her flight here, she relaxed somewhat and accepted the string of tropical flowers.

"Aloha," the woman greeted her kindly, "Welcome to Hawaii."

"Mahalo," Jen responded kindly, thanking the woman for the flowers and the greeting. The woman looked somewhat surprised at her response, likely having believed she was a simple tourist, but her shock passed quickly and she smiled at Jen before moving on to the next passenger with a handful of leis.

As soon as she had decided that she would be bringing her new identity to the beautiful islands of Hawaii, Jen had begun learning the native language. It would be quite some time before she was truly fluent, but with the extensive language background she already possessed, the work so far had been rather enjoyable, and she felt comfortable using it now, even if she didn't really need to be.

She watched quietly as other passengers made their way to the baggage claim area. She had no need to make the same detour on her way out of the airport, as she only had the one bag with her.

Three years living the way she had, Jen had grown accustomed to traveling light, and really only had the absolute necessities for survival. It had been three years since she had slept soundly through the night. Three years of constantly moving, never having a place of her own. Three years of fake names, fake trust, fake love. She had been forced to get close to more than a few of Doyle's men romantically in order to get her hands on the necessary information to continue on. Three years of death. She couldn't risk any of these men telling Doyle she was alive, and of course she had been tasked with destroying as much of his empire as possible, and that meant a great deal of killing.

It had been a horrible three years, but it was her penance for allowing her former case to endanger the lives of her teammates and their families. It was her mess and she had risked her life day in and day out to clean it up.

And now it was done. The running and fighting and hiding and lying and killing was all over. Her life as CIA Operative Emily Prentiss was over.

In that moment, Jen silently vowed to herself that next time she stepped off a plane in a beautiful tropical destination, she would have a proper suitcase full of fun vacation clothes to pick up at baggage claim. Next time.

Today however, she simply slipped through the glass doors of the airport's main exit and made her way to the bus. She wouldn't rent a car; the agency had compensated her rather generously for her work over the last three years, and for the 'inconvenience' her identity change might have created. Hush money if she was being honest, but after everything that agency had put her through, she had earned every penny.

So, she was rather well off, not that that was anything new for Jen. Even as Emily, she had never lacked funds. And with her new bank accounts set up and filled, she had already made all of the necessary arrangements for her new life here.

There was a modest, ranch style home waiting for her on a secluded private beach near the North Shore. Her back doors opened right onto the sand and she was looking forward to settling in there. There was also a new car waiting for her in her garage, a midnight blue Aston Martin Vanquish convertible. So, maybe she had splurged a bit when buying that particular set of wheels, but she couldn't help herself. She had enough money to buy herself a mansion on the hill, and had opted for a much smaller place tucked away, so she really didn't feel an ounce of guilt for buying herself a proper sports car.

There was also a full wardrobe of new clothes already waiting for her in the new home, so her current baggage crisis would be remedied as soon as she got home.

Home.

This beautiful island paradise was home now. No more sleeping in a different bed every night chasing down terrorists. No more tiny brownstone in the crowded DC center. No more moving from country to country on a moment's notice year after year. Jen had a home now, that Emily never truly had, and she was thrilled at the prospect of really being free to put down roots somewhere for the first time.

The bus pulled up to a stop along a stretch of white sand beach with a gentle surf, and on an impulse, Jen stood from her seat and made her way out. She was still quite a ways from her new place, she knew that, but she was in no hurry. She was operating on island time now, and she had a week until she was expected to report to her new job.

Jennifer was known here as Homicide Detective Lawson, the new transfer to the Honolulu Police Department (HPD) Her backstop included a detailed history of her time with the San Diego Police Department (SDPD) in sunny Southern California and with the Denver Metropolitan Police Department (DMPD) in the mountain city of Colorado. She was here in Hawaii to continue the work she enjoyed doing, helping people, and bringing killers to justice, but she had needed a change of scenery and the islands provided that.

No one was expecting her for a week though, so she could afford to spend the day down here at the beach and just explore.

She silently set her bag down on the sand, looking out at the water as it crashed against the shore. A few other touristy types had followed her off of the bus, and they quickly made their way towards the wide open sand to her left, chatting amongst themselves the whole way. There were several others on the sand and in the shallow water that way, but she found herself instead being drawn to the large rock formation on her right. No one was headed that way, and she was sure it wasn't the usual spot for a newcomer to the island, but it was beautiful, and she could see there was another stretch of beach on the other side of it which appeared to be empty.

Jen slipped her boots off and reveled in the feeling of the warm sand sliding between her toes. She rolled her pants up to just below the knee; she would have worn shorts given where she was headed, but the obvious scars on her thighs would have drawn unwanted attention, and this way they remained safely covered. She rolled her sleeves up to just below the elbow and unbuttoned her top layer, revealing the tight black tank top beneath, but again did not remove the piece entirely, careful to avoid showing her scarred shoulders and upper back. She put her boots neatly inside her duffel, zipped it up, and swung the bag across her back as she made her way towards the rocks, ready for a little mini adventure to celebrate her first day in her new home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: What the Hell is Her Name?**

It had been an unbelievably long day for Steve. A bomb threat in the Governor's mansion had pulled him from his first day off in months, and it had just been one crisis after another from there. It was like the fates just didn't want to allow him a single day to lounge on the beach and do nothing. Had that really been so much to ask? One day of peace and quiet?

The sun was setting over the water as he continued down the sand towards his small home. His car was totaled, again, that morning when their bombers rammed him and Danny during their escape. So he had taken the bus home and walked the rest of the way along the sand, trying to recapture a bit of the tranquility of this morning.

He was about to walk in his back door, when he noticed there was someone sitting on the sand not two hundred yards away. This was a private beach, and there was only one other home for miles, a small ranch house, which no one had lived in for years. So who was this stranger on his stretch of beach?

He decided to investigate. He just couldn't help it.

So he walked up to her and was about to call out to her, when she looked up and their eyes met. A flicker of recognition in both sets of brown orbs as they stared at each other.

He was suddenly transported back in his mind to a mission from years ago, and an escape through the desert with a beautiful woman.

 **Morocco, 11 Years Ago**

 _Jonathon finished securing the rope bindings Chloe had given him around their 'friend' she had brought along for the ride._

 _After they'd made their way out of the compound, he'd been expecting a point in the right direction and a "good luck; you're going to need it". Instead, Chloe had directed him to a stolen SUV, and told him to make sure the unconscious man in the back was secure while she jumped in the driver's seat and floored it._

 _"_ _You want to tell me what he's doing here?" he asked her, as he slid into the front passenger seat beside her. He didn't want to sound ungrateful; after all, she had just risked her own hide to save his life. But kidnapping one of Andrews' top guys on the way out the door didn't seem like a bright idea to him and he wanted to know what her plan was._

 _She laughed lightly at his direct approach before answering, "Andrews believes he's been skimming off the top for months. He hasn't been able to prove it yet, and he wants to know who's been helping him. Otherwise, he'd already be dead."_

 _"_ _Okay," he responded slowly, "I still don't see why you would bring him along?"_

 _"_ _He's my scapegoat," she told him, as if that explained everything, "I can't very well have Andrews knowing I helped you, not after he caught you searching his office."_

 _"_ _Scapegoat?" he repeated dumbly. As in blame his escape on the guy Andrews already suspects of being dirty? Ok, but what difference did it make? It wasn't like she could go back there now. He was fairly certain Chloe was a spy, either CIA or some European equivalent. She had blown her cover to extract him before Andrews killed him; going back now when she had no idea if anyone had seen them leaving was tantamount to suicide._

 _"_ _Yes, scapegoat, patsy, fall man, you are familiar with the concept I trust?" she mocked him good naturedly, "He brought you in to help him steal from Andrews, but when you were caught searching through shipment orders on his behest, he decided to help you escape. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and witnessed you two leaving the main compound. He wanted to kill me, but you convinced him to take me as leverage instead, just in case Andrews caught up with you guys. Once you'd gotten clear of the compound, he wanted to kill me since I was essentially dead weight and might become a hindrance to your getting out of the country alive. He attacked me and I defended myself. There was a struggle, and I ended up killing him, but you hit me from behind, knocking me out cold. By the time I came to, you were gone. Covers all my bases, gets rid of a problem for Andrews in this guy, gets you out of here in one piece, and gives you a head start on Andrews and his men. Plus, the fact that you were against killing me, and didn't take me out when I was unconscious and couldn't fight back, means he'll be less inclined to come after you with everything he has."_

 _His eyes grew wider as she laid out her plan, and it was a damn good one, but it had a few holes he wasn't comfortable with. "How do you plan on convincing the man that you were in a fight to the death and rendered unconscious without any obvious injuries?" he asked first, since that was the most obvious problem._

 _"_ _Ha!" she exclaimed, starting to laugh again, "Don't tell me you're afraid of hitting a girl?" she asked cocking her eyebrows and punching him lightly in the shoulder, "You get a couple good hits in, maybe cut up my forearms a bit to imitate typical defensive wounds. I beat the piss out of this poor bastard, stab him and let him bleed out, out here in the desert. You hit me over the head, preferably not enough to actually knock me out, but enough to give us the necessary head wound. You take this SUV and get the hell out of dodge. Ditch it first chance you get, and find yourself a new set of wheels. I trust you can make your own way out of Morocco?" she asked._

 _He nodded his ascent, equal parts impressed with her forethought, and terrified at the prospect of actually hurting her in order to pull it off. But there was still one thing that he had to ask, "Why the hell do you even need to do this? Just kill this fool and leave with me. I think it's fairly obvious at this point you're not loyal to Andrews; hell, I'd be willing to go as far as to say you're not actually Chloe Matthews at all. So, why does it matter if he knows you helped me? It's not like you can go back there anyway."_

 _She avoided his gaze, which told him everything he needed to know. This woman had just risked everything to save him, and was now planning to go back into the Lion's Den alone. "I don't have a choice," was all she said._

 _"_ _Like hell you don't!" he shouted, "Andrews will kill you if he finds out about any of this. If he even suspects you're not who you say you are, you're dead. And you damn well know that! You cannot go back there!"_

 _"_ _That's the job," she responded, maintaining her calm in face of his outburst, even as their 'guest' in the back began to stir, "I know the risks, but I have poured two years into this mission, and I will not walk away now, not when I am so close to having enough to bring the whole damn thing down. This is what I do Jonathon."_

 _He just looked at her, shocked. Two years? She had just confirmed that she was an undercover agent for an intelligence agency of some kind, likely American if this was her real accent coming through now, and she had been on mission with Andrews for two years?! He had only been here for a little over a month, and if he hadn't been caught, he'd have had the last of the intel he came for and would have been gone._

 _Two years?! What the hell kind of mission was so extensive that she would be expected to stay deep cover for that long? 'Bring the whole thing down'? That's what she'd said, right? She had somehow gotten close to Andrews, romantically involved with him close, closer than anyone had ever gotten, ever. So, maybe she really did have all the intel necessary to bring down his extensive business operations, maybe even the terrorist connections he suspected the man had. But how the hell did she get away with it for two years?!_

 _All he could say was, "Two years? All that work, all that time, and everything could be lost… Because of me… If he hurts you…"_

 _She cut him off, giving him a sharp look, "Hey! Don't go there Jonathon. Getting you out of there was my decision, and I would do it again in a heartbeat. Nothing that happens from here on out is in any way your fault. And besides, I know we made it out clean. This is all going to work Jonathon, I know it. I'll be fine; I've gotten out of far worse scrapes in my day." She laughed at the end, causing a small smile to grace his own lips in response._

 _"_ _Steve," he corrected. He didn't like this beautiful women calling him by his alias. Jonathon Wayland didn't exist, as he suspected Chloe Matthews didn't exist._

 _"_ _What?" she asked, distracted by his sudden change in thought._

 _"_ _My name is Steve," he told her, not having to explain that Jonathon was his cover. She understood. They were the same, or at least they worked in similar capacities. He suspected that she was much better at this than he ever would be, not that he would admit that aloud._

 _"_ _Well, it's a pleasure to meet you officially Steve," she answered smiling as she pulled her hand from the steering wheel to shake his, "I'd tell you my name, but then I'd have to kill you, and that would be a mighty waste after going to so much trouble to save you, now wouldn't it? Besides, I'm quite fond of you. So, I suppose we'll stick with Chloe for now, yeah?"_

 _She had him laughing again, completely forgetting his own injuries, and the fact that they were still driving through the desert, far from out of the woods, and she would be headed back to that hellhole they'd just gotten out of. He just turned to her and said honestly, "Alright Chloe, but someday, I want to know the name of the woman who risked her life while on mission to save mine." It was his way of saying thank you._

 _"_ _Don't worry Steve. Something tells me, we'll see each other again someday."_

 **11 Years Later**

He couldn't believe it. There, sitting on the sand in front of his home, was Chloe Matthews. The ghost of a woman he had been trying to find for over a decade was here, in the flesh, just resting on the beach without a care in the world.

He had never been able to find her, and gaging by the shock that ran through her features when she spotted him, she hadn't found him, or even known he was here at all. It seems fate had thrown them back into the mix together.

And all Steve McGarrett could think in that moment was, 'Come on woman, what the hell is your name?!'.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Friendly Neighbors**

"Steve?" Jen whispered, her voice breaking at the end. It couldn't be him, could it? The mystery man from Morocco that she'd known as Jonathon Wayland? No, he couldn't be here. It wasn't possible. What if he recognized her?

"Chloe?" he responded, sounding just as bewildered at seeing her. Shit! This was not happening. No one could know about her past. Hawaii was supposed to be a fresh start, away from all of this crap.

"Um," she wasn't sure what she was supposed to say. In that moment she was infinitely thankful that she had never told him her real name back then, "Jennifer actually. My name is Jennifer Morgan Lawson. But please, call me Jen."

"Jen," he repeated, "I have waited 11 years to hear that name," he laughed, and she instantly felt guilty. He had waited over a decade to hear whether or not Chloe, Emily, whoever, had survived, and not only had she never made any effort to find him, she couldn't even give him her real name after all this time. "Lt. Commander Steven James McGarrett," he continued, taking her hand in his own, gun-calloused grasp, "But just call me Steve."

"It's been a long time," she commented lamely, unsure what to say or do, and half tempted to go home, pack up and run.

"Indeed it has," he agreed, "I'm very glad to see you made it out of Morocco in one piece. I got word about the mass arrests about a month after we last spoke, and I must say, you did one hell of a fine job. Interpol, the CIA, and every intelligence agency in Western Europe wanted some sort of credit for that takedown. It was an incredible operation, and I trust it landed squarely on the shoulders of your intel?"

"I was just doing my job," she told him, honestly, unsure what it was he expected her to say.

"But I never heard from you," he continued, "No one in the intelligence community knew who the source had been to finally take Andrews down, and everyone kept saying whoever it was must have been killed or forced into hiding. I thought I'd gotten you killed…"

"Oh God, Steve I'm so sorry," she felt awful that he'd been harboring all this guilt for so many years, "No, I got out clean the night before the raid. I was fine. Andrews never knew what hit him," this actually made her laugh. For such an accomplished criminal, he really was a fool when it came to women, "I wanted to look for you, but I didn't even have a full week to recover after Morocco before I was thrown back into the field, and I was deep for almost two years on that one before I resurfaced. By then, all traces of the op in Morocco were well buried, and all I had to go on was a first name I couldn't even be sure was real…"

"Another two-year stint?" he asked, sounding horrified. Had Jen ever had a chance at even a semblance of a normal life? Morocco had been the longest undercover op he had ever run in his time with military intelligence, and he hadn't done anything remotely similar before or since. How had she survived so much time acting as someone else?

"Yeah," she answered, sounding incredibly sad, "That was my last sanctioned mission with the agency. It was a bad one, and after I got out, I never wanted to look back."

"Where did you go from there?" he asked, sensing she didn't want to say any more about Morocco or any of her other missions.

Jen paused for a moment, unsure how to answer this question. She had been fully prepared to lie her ass off to every single person she came into contact with, but here she was, talking to someone who already knew about her past, and wouldn't judge her or threaten her. And she knew she could trust him. She didn't even know why she was so sure, any more than she knew why she had to save him all those years ago. She just knew, in her gut, that he would never betray her.

But could she really tell him everything?

"Jen?" he pressed, when she stayed quiet.

"Emily," she said simply, surprised at how similar this conversation sounded to the one they had had all those years ago.

"What?" he asked, confused.

"My real name, the name I was born with, was Emily Elizabeth Prentiss. I haven't shared that name with anyone in nearly four years, and for all intents and purposes, I am Jen now. I have to be. But I promised you a long time ago, to tell you the name of the woman who saved your life in the desert, and her name was Emily."

He looked at her with a newfound curiosity, but didn't get angry about her obvious lie only moments ago. He simply asked her, "What happened?"

She softly patted the sand beside her, and as he joined her there on the beach she began her story, a story she never thought she would tell anyone, especially not anyone here.

"After Andrews and Morocco, the Agency was thrilled with the work I had done, and were all too eager to toss me back into the field as soon as possible. They had assembled a task force with several other intelligence agencies called JFT-12," she began quietly.

"I heard about them," Steve told her, "Profilers who specialized in infiltrating terrorist organizations, right?"

"Yeah, that was us. Or me, rather. The team sorted intel, and kept everything running smoothly, but I was the only one who ever had direct contact with the target. His name was Ian Doyle." She paused here, seeing a flicker of recognition in his eyes. She wasn't surprised that he knew the name, not because he was in military intelligence back in the day and might have come across it, but because the FBI man-hunt four years ago would have been big news.

He was putting the pieces together rather quickly. Chloe, Jen, Emily, whoever she was, she had been responsible for putting Doyle away, and after his escape a few years back, he'd come after her and her team. But did that mean she joined the FBI after getting out of the CIA? Was she a BAU profiler? Or had she been forced into hiding? Was Doyle still after her now? He hated all of the questions running through his head, and decided to just remain quiet and let her continue in hopes that she might give him some answers.

"It took nearly two years to finally bring down Doyle and his army of followers. Two years where I, as Lauren Reynolds, was expected to maintain a relationship with the man. Two years where I raised his son, Declan as my own. Doyle actually asked me to marry him before it was all said and done. He had completely fallen in love with Lauren, and Declan had taken to calling me momma. And the whole time, I was spying on them, plotting how to destroy their lives and tear them apart. I did my job, but when they finally raided our villa in Tuscany, it made me sick. They had to make it look good, so they took me when they took Doyle, and threw us into separate vehicles. I can still hear Declan screaming for his momma and papa," she was crying at this point, silent tears racing down her flushed cheeks.

Steve slid close to her and pulled her into his arms, rocking her quietly, not saying anything, just holding her. He knew she had probably never spoken about this to anyone, and she needed to get it out, and it killed him to see her so upset.

"I think I knew that day that I couldn't stay with the agency," she admitted, "I had gotten too close. I had started to fall for Ian, the same way he did for Lauren, and I loved Declan with every fiber of my being. I would never betray my country, so there was never even a moment where I questioned my mission, but my little boy crying out for his mother and father… Listening to that, knowing I was the reason he would never see Ian again, it was too much."

Steve couldn't help but notice the way she referred to Declan as 'her little boy', like he really was her son, not Doyle's, not Lauren's, but hers. He couldn't imagine raising a child for two years and then being forced to leave them behind and never see them again; it was no wonder she needed to start over after that.

"I helped Doyle's house keeper, Louise, gain custody of Declan after the arrests. She had been like a nanny for Declan since his birth, and was the closest thing to a mother he had had before I came into the picture, so I knew that she would protect him.

I didn't go back into the field after that. No one knew just how close I had gotten or how much I really needed the time to sort myself out, but no one could argue with my sudden desire to work intel from afar, because two weeks after the arrests in Tuscany, I found out I was pregnant, with Ian's child…"

He hadn't seen that coming. She had raised his son. They were engaged to be married. And then, after he was arrested and she was trying to put it all behind her, she found herself carrying his child. How could she possibly deal with all of that?

"I didn't tell anyone except my direct supervisor. I didn't want anyone to know. I just quietly made the arrangements for my departure from the agency, and then disappeared. Of course, two months later, I got word from one of my contacts that Ian Doyle had been transferred to a North Korean prison camp, and his captors wanted more dirt on him, so they could break him. My superior was searching for me, not only because Lauren and her unborn child made an incredible promotion for him to use with the Koreans, but because I was the only one in the world who knew where Declan and Louise were. He was ready to throw me, my son, and my unborn child to the wolves to be tortured and killed, so they could squeeze more information out of Ian…"

"Jesus!" Steve let out, horrified, suddenly holding onto Jen even tighter, like he thought she might disappear at any second.

"That was the moment that I finally decided enough was enough," she told him, sounding bitter and angry, "I helped fake Declan and Louise's deaths, set them up with new identities and sent them to live with an old trusted friend in the States. I then went deeper into hiding to live out my pregnancy far from prying eyes. I gave birth to Rose Lillian Prentiss in a small village in the Costa Rican jungle, and she was adopted by a local priest and his wife. I never saw her again. My children were safe, and could never be used against me, or Doyle."

Steve had no idea how to respond to all of this. It was just too much. She had been through too much, lost too much, suffered too much. The agency had no right to ask so much of her, and then betray her and her family. It was insanity.

Still holding her tightly to his chest, both of them deep in thought, he felt when Jen began to shiver from the falling temperature, and rubbed her arms absently, trying to warm her up, "Come on, let's get you inside. My place is just there, around that bend," he said pointing as he helped her stand up.

"So you're my mystery neighbor?" she laughed dryly, dusting herself off, "I just moved into the old ranch down the sand a piece. The guy who sold me the place said there was only one other person with access to the beach, and he was a former Navy Seal, and a hell of a detective. I think he was worried I wouldn't feel safe this far from the city," they both laughed at this, knowing full well that she was more than capable of taking care of herself, and likely wanted to have her privacy, "I actually came down here to wait for you, hoping to meet you. I just never imagined it would be _you_."

"I know what you mean," he told her, "I thought I'd seen a ghost when I noticed you sitting out here."

"Sometimes it feels like I am a ghost…"

Trying not to be shaken by her ominous words, knowing there was much more to her story, he took her hand in his own and said, "Come on. I'll make us something to eat, and we can talk inside. If you stay out here, you'll only end up catching your death…"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 – All Out in the Open**

When Jen had stepped off the plane, only a few short hours ago, she never could have imagined that she would be sitting in the kitchen of Lt. Commander Steve McGarrett, a mystery man from her days with the Agency, or that she would actually be trying to sort out how to tell him about all the things she had thought she would take to the grave.

Yet, here she was, sitting on a bar stool in Steve's kitchen, watching him cook up a storm, a cup of hot tea in her hands.

"So," she broke the silence after a few moments causing him to look up from the pan of lasagna in front of him, "Lt. Commander huh? And if my real estate buddy can be believed, a former Navy Seal? I can only assume military intelligence?"

"Yeah," he admitted, equally unnerved by the fact that he could actually talk about these things with her, "Almost a decade in the Navy, then almost five years in military intelligence, before I finally retired. I'm still a reservist, so I maintain the rank, but these days my day job is somewhat more mundane. I head a police task force for the Governor, called Five-O."

"It's a natural transition isn't it?" she noted, "Intel to law enforcement, I mean. A lot of the same skills set, and we still get to put criminals behind bars, just without all of the isolation and secrets…"

"Yeah, I guess it is," he agreed, but then he noticed something, "We?"

"Ah," she said, "You caught that, huh? I made the same transition after Rose was born. I actually ended up working for the FBI, the Behavior Analysis Unit out of Quantico."

"So, you're a bad ass Bureau profiler?" he was quite impressed, but not surprised, having observed her undercover skills first hand, "But then what brings you to my island?"

"Was a profiler…" she said, again unsure how to explain.

Steve finished prepping the lasagna and put the pan in the oven, set the timer, and made his way over to Jen, sitting down beside her, "What happened?" he asked her for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

"Nothing at first," she hedged, "I took back my life as Emily Prentiss, Supervisory Special Agent in the FBI. I became a part of the BAU team; really they became like family to me. I got the fresh start I was looking for. For about five years, everything was perfect. Or at least as perfect as things can ever be when you work insane hours, travel nonstop, and spend every waking minute with your team, mostly dealing with serial killers…"

"Sounds like a glamorous life," Steve laughed, but didn't let it go, "What changed?" He suspected Doyle's escape was what catalyzed her major shift in locale, but that had been almost four years ago, and he wanted to know why she was suddenly here in Hawaii living under a fake name.

"Ian Doyle escaped from prison," she began, confirming his suspicions, "He found out that Lauren Reynolds had really been a spy, and had survived. He started hunting down my old team, killing them and their families. By the time we figured out what was happening it was too late; all but three of us were already dead. Clyde and Tsia, the other two surviving members of my team, made their way to DC and we prepared to make a final stand together. Tsia was meeting an old contact of mine to secure fake IDs for us in case we needed to disappear on short notice, and Doyle found her. She was dead before Clyde or I could get to her."

"I'm so sorry," Steve took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. This was just yet another painful memory for her that was associated with her former profession, and she couldn't help feeling a sudden profound sadness for her loss.

"Clyde wanted to tell my team at the BAU what was going on, to ask for their help, but I wouldn't let him. They were the closest thing I had to a real family, and I knew that if Doyle found out about them, he'd use them to get to me. Hotch, my boss, he has a son, Jack, who reminds me so much of Declan. And JJ, our media liaison, she has a son, Henry about the same age. They would have been in danger because of me, and I just couldn't let that happen," she begged him to understand, and really, he did. She put her friends and their families ahead of herself and her fellow agent. She protected the innocent lives at the risk of her own. It was truly honorable.

"What happened to Clyde?" he asked gently, sensing that her old friend was long dead now.

"I tried to get him to leave the country, to run, but the old fool just wouldn't listen," she explained, a stray tear sliding down her cheek as she was yet again overcome by her emotions, "Doyle caught up to him while I was procuring automatic weapons. He was dead before I returned. He died alone…"

Steve wrapped his arms around her tightly, rubbing soothing circles into her back, "He knew what was coming Jen. He made his choice to stay and fight. It wasn't your fault."

"I wish I could believe that…" she whispered, "But he was in London, safely removed from the whole thing, and Doyle didn't even know who he was. Whoever was feeding him his information hadn't mentioned Clyde. He came to DC to help me, to protect me. And Doyle found out about him because of me, and killed him because of me. He died alone, an ocean away from home, because I wasn't there to help him."

"As horrible as all of that is, that's on Doyle, not you," Steve insisted, "You survived. You protected your friends at the Bureau. You brought down the bastard to begin with, and gave his children a chance at a real life away from all the violence and death. You did that. You. And all the horrible things that that man did cannot negate who you are, or all of the good you have done."

She couldn't believe how good to felt to hear those words. Those were the words of support and encouragement she had desperately needed back then, and there had been no one to say them, no one to help her deal with all of it.

"Thank you," she said simply, letting all of her emotions seep into that two little words.

The two of them simply stayed like that for what felt like hours after that, holding onto each other, Jen trying to quiet the sobs which racked her slender frame, Steve doing what he could to soothe her guilt and pain.

They only finally pulled apart when the oven chimed, letting them know the lasagna was ready.

"Go ahead and freshen up," Steve told her, pulling her to her feet, "The bathroom is down the hall, on the left," he pointed out, "I'll get dinner ready and we can talk more over food, ok?"

"Yeah, ok," she agreed and made her way down the hall, trying to pull herself together.


	5. AN

**THIS IS NOT A NEW CHAPTER... But there will be one very soon... :)**

 **A/N: I am so sorry everyone for the long wait on updates across all of my stories. I have been dealing with a tremendous amount of personal struggles over the last several months, and I know it's no excuse for neglecting all of my wonderful readers, but I am sorry all the same. I just wanted to let you know that I have not abandoned my stories, and I am working on updates as we speak, so the long wait is almost over. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed my stories in the last few months, and thank you to everyone who is still reading my work despite the long wait.**


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